New Year's Resolution
by ChocolateIsMyDrug
Summary: Modern 'North & South'. A series of short snippets answering the essential questions of how they met, what they thought, how they felt, how they fell.
1. Fireworks

**A/N: **An idea that got hold and wouldn't go away until I had written it down. This part is rather short, but there will be more soon – please review and tell me what you think!

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**New Year's Resolution**

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_Part One – Fireworks_

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When Margaret Hale and John Thornton first met, sparks flew. Because they were in the city centre enjoying the New Year's Eve fireworks display.

Both had already downed more than a few drinks apiece, so naturally they immediately hit it off. Of course, then there followed a time in which they played drinking games, loudly whispered secrets into one another's ears and found themselves wondering aloud if the moon was, in fact, made of cheese.

This might have been why, when the cheers went up at midnight, Margaret giggled and clumsily pressed her lips against John's, and it might also have been why he giggled and clumsily pressed them back. Finding that they quite liked this new development, the end of the firework show did not deter them, for, cheesy as it sounds, they were creating fireworks of their own.

What might or might not have happened following this was a secret locked away in the dark depths of their inebriated memories, and might have remained so had it not received confirmation in the form of Margaret's test results. This was what led her, with only a business card and a vague recollection of a handsome stranger, to his door to communicate to him the news – welcome, or unwelcome, let him judge for himself – that in some eight and a half months he was to be a father.

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	2. News Imparted

**A/N:** Here's part two. Once again, it's quite short, but that's how most of these are going to be. Hope you like it – please review and tell me what you think!

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_Part Two – News Imparted_

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And so two weeks into January, Margaret found herself in the office of John Thornton, successful CEO and head accountant of Marlborough & Mills Co., sharing the glad tidings. After an awkward introduction – by his rather confused reaction to which, she could tell that he barely remembered her – she decided to follow it up with a flat statement. 'I'm pregnant,' she said.

'Oh,' he said slowly, looking rather lost as to what all this had to do with him. 'Congratulations?'

Once it had been clarified exactly what it had to do with him, some profanity succeeded. Margaret was unsurprised, and merely waited for him to finish.

When the initial shock had dissipated, denial succeeded. This took the form of an insinuation that perhaps he wasn't the father after all, and maybe Margaret was just expecting him to marry her like a fool so that she could lay her hands on his money. Such an accusation can only be responded to in one way, and so it was that John found himself the recipient of a stinging slap from the irate woman in front of him.

Both of them were breathing deeply now, partly from anger, partly from frustration, partly from panic. Finally, Margaret looked away, sighing. 'Forget it,' she muttered. 'I just thought you ought to know. But I should have known you'd be an arse about it.'

She turned on her heel and left, but not before he felt a twinge of remorse as he glimpsed the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. Then his gaze was drawn to a piece of paper – no, a card of some sort – which must have fallen out of her pocket. Upon further examination, this was discovered to be his own business card, with his own phone number scrawled on the back in his own writing.

_Shit._ He slumped over his desk and groaned.

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	3. A Proposal of Sorts

**A/N:** A little bit longer this time – hope you like it!

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_Part Three – A Proposal of Sorts_

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Despite the unfavourable impression that his denial of responsibility may have made, it must be said that John Thornton was a good man. He was, if nothing else, honourable. And it was this quality that found him, after a sleepless night, telephoning every M. Hale in the phone book until after wading through all the Matthews, Marcuses, Marthas and Madelines, he finally found Margaret.

Or rather, he found her roommate Edith, who could only give him the news that Margaret was out and was expected back soon. Perhaps it was for the best. The proposition he had in mind would be best communicated in person. And thus a few hours later he found himself outside her door, hesitating before finally knocking.

Then all at once she opened it, and standing opposite her in his office clothes, he felt over-dressed and rather foolish. Perhaps she felt something similar, because she looked rather self-conscious in her too-small T-shirt and oversized track pants. There was a spoon in her mouth, which she had presumably been using to eat the ice-cream in the bowl she clutched in her hand. Wordlessly she opened the door wider to admit him inside.

Clearing a pile of books off the sofa, she gestured that he should sit down, apologising for the mess as she did so. One that had been lying open, presumably the comfort read she had been in the middle of when he had landed up on her doorstep, was _Pride and Prejudice._ If John had been superstitious, he might have seen it as a bad omen, but as it was, glancing at the cover, his only fleeting thought was a fervent hope that he would come out better than the grumpy bloke who jumped in the lake.

Deciding to cut straight to the chase – or as near to it as he could get with his inevitable preliminary babble – he stumbled his way through a proposal of marriage. He did not go down on one knee – that would have been going too far – but he did present her with a ring. Never let it be said that John Thornton didn't do these things properly.

Margaret glanced dubiously at the admittedly very pretty ring, and after a long pause she finally spoke. 'You don't have to do this, you know.' She set the now-melted bowl of ice-cream on the coffee table. 'I would have been satisfied with the promise of some financial help and you agreeing to give my baby the chance to know its father.' Her voice had now acquired a cold edge. 'I hope you don't think I turned up to your office in order to trap you into marrying me.'

He cringed to hear his former accusation from her mouth, but at the same time he couldn't help feeling a stab of irritation. He was trying to help her, for God's sake! 'I wouldn't let anyone trap me,' he replied, a little heatedly. Then he sighed. 'Look, this doesn't mean we'll have to be together forever, or any of that crap. Just marry me, have the baby, and then when it's a year old, we can get a divorce. I'll pay child support, I'll spend time with the kid, and afterwards you and I can both be with whoever we want.'

She thought this over for a while. 'I see,' she said slowly. 'But you still don't have to marry me for that.'

With a commendable effort, he resisted the urge to drop his burning face into his hands. 'It's my mum, okay!' he ground out between gritted teeth. 'She'd kill me if she found out. So please, _please, _just marry me and don't be difficult, and I promise we can go our separate ways soon.' Margaret was watching him closely throughout this speech, and he could see the corners of her mouth twitch. The spots of colour in his cheeks heightened as he observed her amusement. 'I'd imagine your parents wouldn't be too happy about it either,' he said defensively.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. 'They're both dead,' she said.

'_Shit_. I mean, I'm sorry – sorry, that came out wrong; it's not just because it means you have no actual reason to marry me, but I actually am sorry...' Biting his lip, he trailed off, awkwardly running a hand through his dark hair. 'Look, I'll make it worth your while – marry me, and when we divorce you can even have half my money–'

She almost giggled. He was either very scared of his mother, or very scared of disappointing her. But in the end it was his obvious discomfort which finally softened Margaret. 'Yes,' she said.

'Yes what?'

'Yes, I'll marry you.' Grinning, she patted a stunned-looking John on the head before heading off to the kitchen to get more ice-cream for the both of them. 'And it's not necessary,' she said over her shoulder.

'What's not necessary?' He seemed to have been reduced to rephrasing whatever she said as a question.

'Your overwhelming gratitude,' she said sarcastically, and he hastily began stammering his thanks. A smile broke out over her face. 'Kidding, John,' she said. 'I meant the money.'

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	4. Cross Examination

**A/N: **In which John's 'mommy issues', as one very astute reviewer put it, are completely justified. Hope you enjoy – please read and review!

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_Part Four – Cross-Examination_

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'So, Margaret – how long have you two been seeing each other?'

Margaret chewed furiously and hastily swallowed her mouthful of salad. 'For eight months now,' she said, automatically catching John's eye. His mother's attention being focused on her, he risked giving her a cautious thumbs up. They had discussed all the details of their fictitious relationship in preparation for just such an interrogation.

Mrs. Thornton's brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed with something that looked suspiciously – and worryingly – like suspicion. 'But John,' she darted a glance at her son who suddenly looked rather uncomfortable, 'told me at Christmas that he was single.'

Margaret took a sip of water that was rather more like a gulp. 'Um...'

John ran a hand through his hair, before beginning to speak rather too quickly. 'Mum, we weren't sure how serious we were then – I didn't want to tell you and have you meet her only to have it all come to nothing.' He finished perfectly serenely and naturally, his initial confusion quickly subsiding.

The tension in Margaret's shoulders eased a little; she had to give it to the man – he was good. That was some mighty quick thinking. Then Mrs. Thornton's voice, more than a little sarcastic, cut into her thoughts.

'So instead you decided to introduce us a week before you're getting married.'

Both of them winced, but John recovered first, giving his mother a sheepish – and, Margaret had to admit – completely disarming grin. 'Yes?'

Although this reply – or rather the manner of it – somewhat mollified her, she was not yet finished. 'How did you two first meet?'

'At a New Year's Eve party,' Margaret said unthinkingly.

Mrs. Thornton's eyes were on her at once. 'I thought you said you had been dating for eight months?'

Margaret only just managed not to clap both hands over her mouth and John looked ready to start banging his head on the table. 'More than a year ago, now,' she clarified, recovering quickly. Time to use some of her newly acquired knowledge – she had not memorised John's life story for nothing. 'John's friend Nick exchanged numbers with my friend Edith, and I guess they were feeling shy or something, because they roped us into a double date, and, well... the rest is history, I suppose.'

Margaret was shocked at how easily and smoothly she was able to lie, and a little disturbed, but the expression on John's face almost made up for it: part relief, part surprise and a large part admiration.

Before she could even make a mental note to tell Edith that, if anyone asked, she had previously dated Nick Higgins, the interrogation continued. 'So, when was the engagement?'

Margaret resisted the urge to look around for the water torture apparatus that would no doubt make an appearance later that night. It was going to be a long evening.

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	5. Only a Business Matter

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for reviewing so far, and special thanks to my lovely beta reader elwren75, whose help on this chapter was much appreciated. Hope you enjoy – please tell me what you think!

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_Part Five – Only a Business Matter_

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It was the morning of the wedding, and superstitious Mrs. Thornton had kept the couple apart all day, fearing bad luck. But Margaret needed to talk to John; the only way was to surreptitiously call him when Mrs. Thornton's back was turned.

Fortunately, he answered on the second ring. 'It's me,' she said, and was gratified when he recognised her voice.

'Margaret? Is anything wrong?' Even through the distortion caused by the bustle around him, she could hear the concern in his voice.

'Not exactly – well, sort of.' She bit her lip, and then sighed. 'Just... John, I was thinking – are we doing the right thing?'

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then he spoke, a little too forcefully. 'Of course we are – why do you ask?'

'I'm not sure that we are,' she said, agitatedly pulling a loose thread out of her sleeve. 'It's not the right foundation for marriage. We made a mistake – so we should admit that we made a mistake, instead of hiding behind the altar!'

He sighed, and through the telephone it made a crackling sound. 'Margaret, the wedding is supposed to be in _two hours.' _He sounded frustrated. 'We've been over this before – it's not just to 'hide our mistake', as you call it.'

Her face flushed in anger. 'I never called our baby a _mistake_, John,' she said heatedly. 'Don't you dare put words in my mouth.'

For a few seconds there was silence on the other end of the line, and she got the impression that he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. 'Alright,' he said, his voice in a state of forced calm. 'What I mean is, you wanted the kid to grow up with both of us in its life, correct? And I didn't want my mum to find out what an idiot I've been.' Despite herself, she couldn't help softening slightly at his last words; she knew as well as he did that his had not been the only idiocy that night, but it was nice of him not to mention it. 'So,' John continued, 'marriage is the best way to achieve this. Just... don't think of it like a marriage – think of it as a... a business transaction. We continue this charade: my mum is happy, and you get what you want. It's a trade-off, and a win-win situation. _Don't_ tell me you want to call it off now.'

All her anger returned full-force. She looked around her, but this not being her own room, there was nothing she could get away with breaking. 'Fine,' she said, her voice not entirely steady. She tried to take deep breaths, but she could not contain herself. 'Is everything a matter of numbers to you?' She waited for an answer, but apart from the sound of his breathing, there was silence.

She hung up.

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	6. Unwrapping

**A/N: **A little bit longer this time – hope you enjoy. Thanks to elwren75 for beta-reading – your input was much appreciated. Please read, and tell me what you think in a review (go on, make my day – it's so simple)!

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_Part Six – Unwrapping_

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Neither of them mentioned what had passed between them during that phone call, but once she had cooled down, Margaret was clear-sighted enough to acknowledge that perhaps it had not been fair of her to suggest calling it all off this far into the proceedings. She had still not forgiven him for compelling her to go through with it, but he seemed determined not to bring up the subject again, and she was scarcely less keen to avoid it.

She found, somewhat to her surprise, that once the ceremony, reception and endless congratulations were over, she was actually starting to enjoy herself opening all the presents with John.

They were back at his house, taking turns to rip off the wrapping paper, both feeling like kids at Christmas. Perhaps it was terrible to say so, but they both felt a sense of euphoria at actually having gotten away with their rather audacious plan of fooling all their friends and family.

It was Margaret's turn. Ripping off the wrapping paper, she shook her head. 'No luck, it's vase number seven.'

John's turn. 'Vase number eight.'

Margaret's turn. 'Candle set number five.'

John's turn. 'Set of bath crystals number four.'

Margaret gave a short, incredulous laugh as she uncovered vase number nine. 'Don't people have any imagination?'

John's fingers suddenly froze over the present he was unwrapping. 'Some people evidently have too much imagination,' he said, holding up a blue romper suit with tiny matching mittens and beanie. He looked worried. 'Who gave us this?'

Margaret put a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. 'That's Edith's present, for sure.' Hunting around under the colourful pile of wrappings lying everywhere, she unearthed the card. 'Yep. I hope you don't mind, but I told her everything before we came up with our deal.'

John still didn't look completely reassured. 'I hope she can keep a secret.'

'Don't worry – her lips are sealed. It's only the unimportant stuff that she can't help telling others.' Margaret held up another present to her ear, shaking it. It made a rattling noise. 'Ooh, this one sounds a little more interesting.'

She ripped off the paper to reveal a cardboard box. Opening it, her face fell. 'It's just vase number ten,' she said, feeling rather cheated.

John reached for the vase. 'But what on earth made that sound?' He reached inside the vase to pull out another wrapped box. Margaret leaned closer, intrigued. John ripped off the gold wrapping paper to reveal... a box of condoms.

It was hard to say who out of the two of them was more embarrassed. Red-faced, John snatched the card, bending it in his haste to get it open. He cleared his throat. 'I had a bad feeling I knew who this was from.'

Sure enough, the card read simply:

_Congratulations John and Margaret!_

_Hope you like the vase (I'm afraid it's a little too late for my other present)!_

_All my love,_

_Nick_

For a moment they were both speechless. Margaret was the first to recover, beginning to laugh, a little at first, and then so much that her eyes were watering and her sides aching. It was infectious, and John was not long immune; soon they were both laughing so hard that they could hardly breathe.

'How – did – he – know?' gasped Margaret finally, trying to regain control. They had been trying for some minutes to compose themselves, but they would just need to look at each other's faces, Nick's card, or his second present before they were lost again.

John took deep breaths, trying to think serious thoughts, such as his mother's reaction if she ever found out. That worked. 'I told him before,' he admitted. 'I asked his advice before I came to you.'

Margaret managed to raise an eyebrow while still clutching her side. 'Oh? What did he say?'

John shrugged. 'He called me an idiot, bought me a drink and advised me not to marry you.'

Margaret looked triumphant. 'See – someone else agrees with me!'

John merely looked at her seriously. 'I wasn't going to tell you, but if it'll stop you twisting everything around to strengthen your own argument, I will. He told me not to marry you because he thought you were after my money.' Margaret's grin faded, and John didn't feel any of the vindictive triumph he had been expecting; instead he only felt horribly guilty for wiping away her smile.

'But he changed his mind when he met you at the wedding rehearsal,' he added hastily. 'He actually said I was lucky it was you and not some gold-digger.'

Margaret looked away. 'Charmed, I'm sure,' she quipped, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it.

John forced a laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere. 'That's what I thought too – it hardly shows much faith in my taste.' He straightened the loose tie around his neck and fluffed up his hair in a mock-debonair manner which brought a tiny smile to her face, despite her best efforts to suppress it. 'After all, I've always been rather discerning.' He smirked like an idiot and her smile widened.

Then he said seriously, hesitating a moment before taking her hand, 'I'm glad it's you, though, rather than anyone else.'

She squeezed his hand. 'Thank you. I suppose I could say the same.'

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	7. Darcy and Thornton

**A/N: **Hope you enjoy – please review and tell me your thoughts!

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_Part Seven – Darcy and Thornton_

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The next day after a breakfast of Coco Pops (the kids at Christmas feeling hadn't quite worn off yet – or at least not the 'kids' part), John dumped a stack of travel brochures on the table. 'So,' he began conversationally, 'where do you want to honeymoon?'

Margaret looked at them dubiously. 'I don't,' she said truthfully. 'I can't – I have to work.'

John waved his hand dismissively. 'Surely if I can get some days off after my wedding, you can. What do you do anyway, that's so important that you can't take some time off?'

She merely looked at him, eyebrow raised. 'I own and manage a bookstore – I don't know anyone who would be able to take over if I were to take a holiday, and in less than two years I'll need any money I can get. I can't afford to close it down.'

John frowned for a minute, deep in thought. Then his face brightened. 'You know, Margaret,' he said, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion at his bright and cheery – _too _bright and cheery – voice, 'I've missed out on so much over all these years. I really need to read more. I think I should visit your store.'

'If you're saying what I think you're saying –'

'I feel a sudden urge to buy books, many books! Classics, bestsellers, highly acclaimed literary fiction, biographies, cookbooks, badly-written vampire romance, you name it!'

'John, I really don't think –'

'And of course, I'd like to find out what the big deal is about that ponce who jumps in a lake –'

Margaret lost her train of thought as she gazed at him in open-mouthed horror. 'Did you just diss Mr. Darcy?!' Then she paused, considering. 'Well, in the book he doesn't _actually _jump in a lake – that was just his swamp monster incarnation in the BBC series. Honestly, I thought he was going to surface just as Lizzy was passing by and scare the hell out of her.'

John looked suddenly interested. 'A swamp monster in a Bronte adaptation?'

Margaret looked scandalised. 'Austen, not Bronte! And Colin Firth wasn't really a swamp monster. He was pretty hot, actually, but the lake scene is so overrated.'

For a second, John looked bemused. 'Okay,' he said slowly, without the least idea of what she was talking about. Then he grinned at her, pulling out and jingling his car keys. 'Why don't you take me to this store of yours, and I'll fulfill my craving to read by buying... oh, I don't know – however many books you'd usually sell in two weeks?'

Margaret found herself no more immune to his smile than his mother; she felt her resolve melting away far too quickly for comfort. Perhaps John was right – this might be her last chance to enjoy herself, free of responsibility. 'You have far too much money for your own good,' she said severely, and his smile flagged a little. Then she grinned. 'And you had better read every single book you buy.'

Now grinning wider than ever he led her to the car, still jumping with excitement that he would get to 'finally fulfill his lifelong yearning to buy books'. Margaret rolled her eyes – clearly, for one of them at least, the 'kids' feeling was still going strong.

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	8. Husbands and Lovers?

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far - it really means a lot to me! And a huge thank you to elwren75 for your input - it's much appreciated. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

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_Part Eight – Husbands and Lovers (?)_

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Margaret stood impatiently waiting for John to return with their entry tickets, which seemed to be taking an unusually long time, whether because of a queue or because of his fumbling with their phrase book, she did not know. Whatever the reason, she had now been waiting for ten minutes.

'Margaret, is that you?'

Her head whipped around at the familiar voice, and a smile broke out over her face. What were the chances that they were both passing through the same art gallery, in the same city, in the same country, at the same time? The world really was too small. 'Henry,' she said, laughing as he hugged her, lifting her off the ground a little.

'What are you doing here?' they both asked at the same time, and then laughed. 'You go first,' Margaret said, with a mock-polite flourish of the hand.

Henry grimaced. 'I'm here for work – what else? An issue with one of my clients – we couldn't deal with it through the Spanish embassy, so we actually came here. Today's my day off, so I decided to do a little sightseeing.'

Margaret punched his arm in sympathy (yes, it was a sympathetic punch – such things existed). 'Glad I'm not you,' she grinned, ruffling his hair. 'Trust you to come to an _art gallery _on your day off – we're only here instead of the beach so that we can feel a little more cultured and intellectual.'

John cleared his throat from behind her. 'Care to introduce me to your cultured and intellectual friend, Margaret?' he said stiffly. He had seen the hair-ruffling antics and their obvious familiarity and both had disturbed him. He and Margaret had a deal – some two years of marriage and _then _the divorce, and _then _seeing other people; it was against the rules to begin now!

She turned at his voice, and seemed not in the least ashamed or guilty, causing him another pang – was this how lightly she regarded their agreement? 'Oh, of course,' she said. 'John, this is Henry; Henry, meet John.'

They shook hands. 'I'm her husband,' said John rather inconsequentially. 'We're on our honeymoon.' He felt like it would be good for this Henry chap to know the facts. He waited for Henry's reaction, but to his disappointment, the man didn't even momentarily lose his composure.

'Oh yes, that's right!' smiled Henry. He turned to Margaret. 'Sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding on such short notice, by the way.' Margaret looked away rather guiltily, but thankfully Henry didn't seem to notice. Before the silence had a chance to get awkward, he lowered his eyebrows to give John an exaggerated look of menace. 'You'd better take care of her, or else.'

John knew the man was joking, but all the same he felt a flame of anger ripple through him. He could not contain his retort. 'Or else what?' he snapped, causing Margaret to look at him in surprise. 'You'll step in to do the job?'

Henry's smile became a little uncomfortable, and he threw an arm around Margaret, causing John's face to darken further and his fist to unconsciously clench at his side. 'Hey, I'm her brother – it's what I'm supposed to do!'

'You're her brother?' John repeated dumbly. 'You're her brother. Of _course_. You're her brother, yes. I knew that. Um.' He grinned broadly, shaking hands with a rather confused Henry once more.

Margaret looked from one to the other, completely lost. Henry looked as bewildered as she felt, and for the rest of the day John was buoyantly cheerful and more than usually incomprehensible.

Fortunately he did not hear Henry's whisper to Margaret. 'Is he bipolar?'

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	9. Non Entity MasterChef

**A/N:** Thanks to elwren75 for beta-reading, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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_Part Nine – __Non-Entity MasterChef_

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'Margaret, hurry up and pass me the butter.' His teeth were gritted and she could swear she saw beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Margaret deliberately took her time about it, rummaging slowly around in the fridge before finally unearthing the stick of butter she had spotted in the first second of looking for it. Snatching it out of her hand without so much as a mutter of thanks, he continued to feverishly chop vegetables and stir saucepans, darting occasional glances into his new cookbook.

'There's no time limit, John,' Margaret reminded him slowly, emphasising each word as if she were explaining that one and one made two to an overemotional two-year-old. He ignored this, skilfully peeling potatoes at breakneck speed.

Margaret resisted the urge to roll her eyes. John had taken her warning to read all the books he'd bought far too seriously, and while this sometimes had its perks such as enjoyable evenings reading Jane Austen aloud to one another – John still wasn't a huge fan of the 'ponce who jumps in the lake', as he insisted on calling Mr. Darcy, but had formed the opinion that Elizabeth Bennet and Emma Woodhouse were 'babes' – and laughing until their sides ached over the unintentional comedy that was the _Twilight _series, it had its negative side-effects too.

John was now a diehard fan of Dan Brown. Even worse – if such a thing were even possible – he was also becoming an avid amateur chef, fuelled by his resolution to read all the books he'd bought including cookbooks, but also by his new obsession with the reality show _MasterChef. _Yes, day after day she got good food that she didn't have to cook, but she also got miniscule fancy-restaurant portions which she had to wait ages for while he 'plated up', embellishing his creations to aesthetic perfection just as the _MasterChef _contestants did.

The increasing number of cuts and burns he sustained from the speed with which he tried to cook did not seem to faze him at all, and he wore them proudly like scars of battle. She often had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes these days, and just as often had to suppress her smiles at his eagerness for her approbation as she tasted his latest culinary creation.

'I really like the way you've imbibed it with a true Asian flavour,' she said, affecting the posh accent of the _MasterChef _judges. 'And the texture's beautiful, but I feel like you could have made a bit more effort with the sauce – it's a little lacking in oomph.'

He glared at her. 'Don't mock me,' he said reproachfully. 'What do you really think?'

She continued in her posh judge accent, 'Well, all I can add is that you could work on your managing your time a little better – I'm sensing that you rushed when making the sauce, and it shows.' Then finally relenting as she saw his pleading eyes, she grinned. 'It tastes really good, John,' she said sincerely.

His smile fell on her like the sun and for a moment she did not know where to look.

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	10. Where the Heart Is

**A/N: **A huge thank you to elwren75 for beta-reading – your input was invaluable. Hope you guys like the latest – please review and tell me what you think!

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_Part Ten – Where the Heart Is_

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They had both decided not to announce to their family and friends the news that Margaret was expecting just yet. John's reasoning was that if they announced a pregnancy so soon, Mrs. Thornton would begin to suspect the reason behind their hasty marriage, and while Margaret conceded to this point, she was not sure how exactly they were going to explain later just why their baby was born on the first of October when they had only gotten married in late January.

The only people who knew were Edith, Nick and Henry. Henry had been told the whole truth while they had all been together in Spain, because Margaret and John had both realised that they needed a trustworthy lawyer who could help them draw up all the documents they needed for their divorce as well as their special agreement.

Although at first shocked and looking as if he rather wanted to punch John, Henry did eventually agree to help, and the papers were now stowed away in that most secret of all locations, under the loose floorboard in John's bedroom.

They did not talk about these papers; divorce was a thought that was far enough away that there was no need to contemplate it at present. For now, they just focused on enjoying the time they had, and contrary to all their expectations, it _was _enjoyable. Margaret and John were fast finding, that when you lived with another person, sharing in the household tasks and co-ordinating a routine together, it was inevitable that a good friendship formed.

Spending a significant portion of their day together, it was only natural that they started talking, first about books, then the people they both knew and then finally about their lives before each other.

'When I got the news of Mum and Dad's accident, I was still at uni,' Margaret said as she wiped the plates dry. 'If it weren't for Edith, I don't know how I would've managed. Henry was working interstate, and although he came back to be with me, he couldn't stay forever, so Edith and Mrs. Shaw insisted that I live with them, instead of staying by myself in Mum and Dad's house.'

John was listening intently, up to his elbows in soap suds. 'It must have been hard,' he said, 'to lose both of them at the same time. I was only fourteen when Dad died, but Mum was always there for me, so I guess that really helped.'

Margaret felt a new respect for the grim Mrs. Thornton. 'You two are really close, aren't you?'

John nodded, his gaze distant despite being directed at his soapy hands. 'For years we've only had each other – I don't reckon I would have coped if she hadn't been there.' Then he looked up at her, and took a deep breath. 'So,' he said, 'after you finished uni, you and Edith roomed together, and then you found yourself...' _Knocked up by a total jerk_, he almost said. His eyes widened. Then he bit his lip, looking away suddenly.

Before it was gone, Margaret saw the look of pain and guilt which passed across his face. 'Then I found myself here,' she finished for him softly, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

He stared at her then, taking in the expression of her eyes. He could not see even a hint of accusation; instead there was something for which the only name he could find was... tenderness. He swallowed visibly. 'Here,' he repeated.

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	11. A Convincing Act

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far – I really appreciate it. And a special thank you to my lovely beta elwren75 for your help with this chapter and all the others! Hope you guys enjoy this one – please review and tell me what you think!

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_Part Eleven – A Convincing Act_

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'So, how did you find Spain?'

It was that time again. Monthly family dinner time – or, as Margaret preferred to think of it, monthly interrogation time. She had had the pleasure of her first encounter with Mrs. Thornton in her home before the wedding in January, and then had had the even greater pleasure of missing the February dinner due to being on honeymoon with John.

Sitting at Mrs. Thornton's dinner table once a month, eating her admittedly delicious food (perhaps John's cooking obsession wasn't such a surprise then) and answering her questions was apparently a Thornton family tradition, and as the newest addition to the Thornton family, Margaret was expected by the stern matriarch to uphold it.

'Spain was great,' John replied sincerely. 'We had a lot of fun, going to art galleries, that kind of thing. We went to the beach once or twice as well.' He shot a glance at Margaret as he said it, and the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

Margaret had to struggle to stifle a giggle. They had gone to an art gallery _once_, and had pretty much lived on the beach for the rest of the two weeks. It had been the most fun she'd had on a holiday since she'd gone with her parents to Disneyland as a kid, perhaps partly due to the fact that a wet John in board shorts was a damn sight nicer than that creepy old man in a moth-eaten Mickey Mouse costume. She shook her head slightly to dispel the mental image (both of them) – _focus!_

Wandering of attention was always dangerous when holding a conversation with Mrs. Thornton; brain had to keep pace with mouth, or else their cover would be blown to smithereens. There had already been a close shave earlier in the evening when she had refused the glass of wine Mrs. Thornton had offered her. The woman had given her such a shrewd look that Margaret was sure that she had figured it out then and there, but then John had hurriedly explained that Margaret never drank. Although fully aware of the irony of the fact that if she truly never drank then she wouldn't be here, Margaret had nodded and smiled, mentally making a note that she was now a teetotaler.

There was no way of telling if they had convinced her or not.

Some time later Mrs. Thornton casually speared a potato with her fork and chewed thoughtfully. When she was finished she asked, 'So Margaret, what have you and John planned regarding children?'

Margaret choked on the sip of water she had taken and began to cough. _Did she know?_ John patted her back, and as she sneaked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was worried too.

When she had recovered, she cleared her throat nervously. John's hand was still on her back and she knew from the meaningful pressure his fingers exerted for a second, that she was not to reveal the news yet. 'Well, we haven't really planned anything as such,' she began, and even as she was speaking, she could see herself in a hospital bed sometime in October, protesting to her mother-in-law that the baby was premature. Then a sudden thought occurred to her – goodness, what on earth would they say if the baby actually _was_ premature? She shook herself inwardly, trying to resist her sudden mad urge to laugh. _Focus, Margaret._

John's hand moved from her back until his arm had settled around her waist, and he smiled warmly down at her even as she turned her head sharply to look up at him, eyes wide. 'That's right,' he said to his mother. 'And besides, I'm enjoying Margaret's company too much to share her with anyone else just yet.' He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, and she stiffened for a second before forcing herself to relax. She shouldn't feel anything when he did that – he was only pretending, after all. For some reason this, coupled with the fact that she remained highly aware of the feel of his arm around her for the rest of the evening bugged her more than it should have.

Later as they drove home, she said, trying to keep her manner playful, 'You didn't need to overdo the act, you know, just to convince your mother.'

He kept his eyes on the road, his expression inscrutable. 'What act?' he said.

Of all the things he could have said, this was the last she had expected. She was not sure what to say in reply.

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	12. Lost

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for reviewing, and to elwren75 for taking the time to beta! Please review and tell me what you think about this chapter.

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_Part Twelve – Lost_

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The day the phone call reached him was one John Thornton would remember for the rest of his life. It had been a long day at work, and he was tired, resulting in his brusque manner as he answered the phone to stop the ringing which made him feel like a hole was being drilled in his head. 'Hello?'

When he heard Margaret's voice at the other end, asking him if he could come to her and come quickly, all his annoyance immediately evaporated. She sounded so strange, and although he easily recognised her voice, so unlike herself. He had never been more frightened. 'Where are you?' he had asked, willing his erratic heartbeat to slow and his palms to stop sweating.

On receiving the answer that she was at work, he made the journey from the offices of Marlborough & Mills Co. to her bookstore in record time. Heedless of the 'Closed' sign, bursting in through the door, he was momentarily relieved to see her sitting behind the desk, apparently well.

But then she turned slowly at the noise of his entrance as if she were waking from a deep sleep, and he was shocked to note that she looked as unlike herself as she sounded. He had never seen her so pale, and there was a look in her eyes which unsettled him, although he could not at first say why. And then it occurred to him that it was not a particular look, but rather the absence of one. It was as if the light behind her eyes had been extinguished and it scared him.

She smiled weakly, and the effort seemed – if it were possible – to cause more blood to drain out of her face. 'I need a doctor,' she said, and he could see the hands which were neatly folded in her lap visibly trembling. 'I don't think I can drive.'

He was at her side at once, and although there were no signs of physical injury evident, he instinctively helped her up. She leaned against him heavily and they slowly walked over to his car.

His heart was racing, and all he could think was, _it's too soon. _The thought spiralled around his head relentlessly as he drove rather recklessly to the nearest clinic. _Too soon, too soon, too soon._

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	13. Short of a Miracle

**A/N:** Thank you so much to elwren75 for beta-reading and to Miss Pseudonymous for your help with this chapter.

A big thank you to everyone for reviewing – I decided to update quickly and not leave you hanging for too long. Please tell me what you think!

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_Part Thirteen – Short of a Miracle_

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There was no heartbeat, they had said, and when he heard that John felt like his own heart had stopped. He couldn't even imagine how Margaret was feeling. He looked at her now as they waited before she went into the surgery. She had not shed a single tear when she had heard the news, but her gaze had suddenly become unfocused and distant, as if she had sunk inside herself. She had yet to resurface.

As her name was called, he squeezed her hand in a way that he hoped was reassuring, but although she turned her head to look at him, her eyes still seemed vacant. Hollow-eyed and pale, she allowed the nurses to lead her in, walking slowly as if in a dream.

And then all he could do was wait outside, wishing for some miracle to restore to him his bright-eyed girl with her sunny smile, the compulsive giggler with her wicked sense of humour. The woman they wheeled out some time later outwardly resembled her, but looking in her eyes, huge and dark with sorrow, he couldn't find any trace of the Margaret of old. He wanted her back, so badly that it hurt.

'Margaret,' he said softly, and he hesitantly touched a hand to her cheek. 'Are – are you alright?' Immediately he felt stupid for asking when the answer was so obviously presented to him in the pallor of her face.

She looked up at him as if she hadn't heard. 'Please,' she said, 'take me home.' Heart sinking horribly, he assisted her to the car, and drove them back to the house they had been sharing for the past two months, desperately hoping that that was where she had meant.

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	14. Dreamless

**A/N: **A big thank you to elwren75 for beta-ing, and to everyone for reviewing. Now the next time I turn on my computer will be after my German oral exam is over, so everyone who reads this, please please PLEASE review – I'm really going to need something to cheer me up after it's over. There's no such thing as too many reviews, and each one gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

Okay – shameless plug for reviews over. Hope you like this chapter!

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_Part Fourteen – Dreamless_

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After getting ready for work as usual, John made his way over to Margaret's bedroom, and his heart sank as he saw her form, still huddled under the bedclothes. In truth, he should not have expected any different, but even though it had been the occurrence of the past few mornings since their visit to the hospital, every morning the hope still rose in his heart afresh.

Walking quietly into the room so as not to disturb her, he carefully sat on the bed. After hesitating a moment, he placed a hand on her shoulder. 'Margaret?' She did not stir. 'Margaret, please,' he whispered, not even sure himself what he was begging her to say, to do.

She gave no sign that she had heard him, and sighing, he rose from the bed, removing his hand. Once out of her room, he dialled Edith's number to once more request that she come and keep Margaret company, if she was free. When Margaret needed her, the girl was always free, and while John was grateful to her for it, he was frustrated that he could not do more himself. He could not possibly take days off for some time, as he had only slightly more than a month ago taken two weeks off to honeymoon.

'I made her some mixed vegetable soup and toast,' he told an equally concerned Edith. 'Try and make sure she eats some of it, will you?' It was a matter of growing worry to John, that despite all his newly-acquired culinary skills, he could not seem to tempt Margaret's appetite with anything. She seemed to eat only to oblige him, and only when he was in the house to oversee it.

With one last glance to Margaret's door, he was forced to make his way to work, to spend another day with his head and heart full of her while he tried in vain to concentrate.

Only when she heard the front door close as John departed did Margaret open her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall. She did not feel up to talking to him. For the past few days he had been tiptoeing around the house and speaking to her in hushed tones when he spoke to her at all, and it only served to remind her that things were not normal.

Every bone in her body seemed to be cast over with a dullness and languor, and she ached all over. The thought of eating made her feel nauseous and the thought of getting up made her feel that it was something she could never aspire to again. The thought of _thinking _was worst of all, for then the thoughts and hopes and dreams would spin around her head until she was sick and dizzy with them.

Giving in to the tiredness which seemed imprinted into every muscle and joint – _so, so tired_ – she closed her eyes and fell into oblivion once more.

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	15. Thawing

**A/N: **I'm back! And I'm in the mood to update early, because the first of five exams is over (well, third of seven if you count my midyears). And while I can't say it went brilliantly, it could have gone a lot worse, and I think I did fairly alright. Thank you for all the reviews – they really made my day (even the ones with German sentences in them, LOL...).

As always, thank you to elwren75 for taking the time to beta-read. Hope you enjoy this one!

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_Part Fifteen – Thawing_

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That evening as he drove home from work, John's mind was buzzing with what he should say to Margaret. Faced with her pale, tired face and frighteningly tearless eyes, his mouth would turn dry and no words seemed right. What _could _he say?

'I'm sorry'. Sorry? How hollow that would sound, how overused. The only reply to 'I'm sorry', would be 'It's not your fault', and he thought that if Margaret said that he'd not be able to bear it, because it _was _his fault. All his fault. If it had not been for his idiocy at New Year's, they would never have been in this situation. She would have been happy living her own life, and he...

But he could not imagine life without Margaret now. Somehow, sometime, unbeknownst to him, he had stopped looking forward to the freedom of divorce, and had started looking forward to meeting his future son or daughter. Had started looking forward to being a parent... with Margaret. He could not say sorry – however selfish it was, he _was _not sorry.

'Everything will be fine'. But would it be? How could he promise that? And how trivial would that make her grief seem? No, there was no way he could say that.

'We can try again'. But that was so inappropriate on so many levels – for one thing, it would be insinuating that what she had lost was simple and replaceable. And for another thing – he could not believe that this had not occurred to him first – _they could not try again._

And that was when John Thornton knew what he wanted. To make good on his promise and live a lifetime with Margaret. To live a future with no divorce looming. To spend their days together, talking, laughing, loving until they were old and grey.

As he pulled into the driveway, he ran a hand through his hair and groaned. Perhaps it had been stupid of him, but this was a complication that he had not foreseen, and now he did not know what to do. Their previous arrangement would have given him a year and a half more with her, but now he had no excuse. He knew that if Margaret in her new situation wanted to bring forward their divorce, he had no logical reason to deny her.

In the house now, he stepped quietly upstairs to Margaret's room to check on her. When he saw the bed, rumpled but empty, his throat constricted in fear. Where was she? Where could she have gone?

Darting through all the rooms in the house in increasing panic, he finally found her, strangely enough, in his bedroom. She was sitting on the floor with her back to him, next to the loose floorboard and in her hands she was clutching the blue romper suit with tiny matching mittens, Edith's wedding gift. John had placed it under the floorboards with the divorce papers, wishing that both would somehow spontaneously combust.

She turned around at the sound of his frantic footsteps, and his heart leaped into his throat to see the beautiful, wonderful tears which were streaming down her face. Wordlessly, he sank onto his knees beside her.

'I thought up names for it,' she whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. 'Richard if it were a boy, and Maria if it were a girl.'

He took her into his arms then and he rocked her gently back and forth whispering her name over and over as she sobbed into his shirt, the glaze of ice around her heart finally thawing as she grieved for the Richard or Maria who could have been and would never be.

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	16. Glorious Sunlight

**A/N: **Thank you to elwren75 for beta-reading, and to everyone for reviewing! Thank you to the anonymous reviewers: Annaflower, Rosdal and SallyW.

Sally – thank you for telling me your thoughts; you did raise a few fair points. You're right, I _don't _know much about divorce laws or miscarriage. With miscarriage I did do some research on the net and talked to some people, but with divorce laws I didn't. While I do try to achieve a certain level of realism, I'm really writing this for fun in order for people to read it for fun, and I don't claim it to be a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination. About my Thornton and Margaret being out-of-character – they're in modern times; they're obviously not going to be identical to their 19th century counterparts. And where's the fun in sticking slavishly to the story when I'm doing a modern take on it? Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read all the chapters and letting me know what you thought of them.

Okay. So... please tell me what you think of this chapter, guys!

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_Part Sixteen – Glorious Sunlight_

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From that day forward, recovery was slow but irrefutable. Margaret took each day as it came, and John lived for small victories like coaxing her to eat everything on her plate and convincing her to come with him for walks to the park. There were still days when she felt like she could not face getting out of bed, but these days were becoming fewer and further between.

John's support had been invaluable, and although he could ill afford to, he had taken time off work to be with her. She'd feebly protested, and asked how the company would manage without him, but he'd replied that 'Nick and the other executives could handle it – what else was he paying them for?', and that had been that.

For a while now Margaret and John had been getting along well with each other, but she had never appreciated him more. Since that day by the floorboards, he had been patient with her, and yet had been firm, knowing when to give in and when to carry his point – lovely as Edith had been, she still tiptoed around her, making Margaret feel as if she were fragile and broken.

In his company it was as if she was gradually awakening from the deep slumber into which she had descended some weeks ago. And it was when she had returned to the world of the living, so to speak, that she made the discovery that she had never felt more wonderfully, intensely _alive_ than when in his presence.

The world had never seemed warmer or more full of colour than in the sunlight of his smile and her nerve endings had never been more sensitive than when sparked by the electricity of his faintest touch. And she could feel an answering warmth in the way her features lit up in his presence and in the way she sometimes forgot to let go of his hand after he had helped her up. John was such a good friend to her, and she was so grateful for all that he had done that often she wanted to throw her arms around him, hold him close and never let go.

Unconsciously her grip on his hand tightened slightly and he smiled, and she smiled. As the sun began to sink in the west, they slowed their pace until they were simply standing in its glow, in awe of its beauty.

Then as the shadows lengthened from the tops of their heads to the tips of their feet, they slowly resumed walking, hands still firmly clasped as they headed towards home.

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	17. Jumping to Conclusions

**A/N:** As always, thanks to elwren75 for your input – and thank you to everyone for reviewing (anonymous reviewers Rosdal, ys1966 and Leslie – thank you!). For those of you who felt the previous chapter was a little short (well, they all are, really), here's a bit of a longer one. Please tell me what you think!

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_Part Seventeen – Jumping to Conclusions_

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One Saturday evening, sometime after John had gone back to work, they were sitting watching the BBC's campy version of _Robin Hood _together. Spare time was often spent lazily in this way, because while they felt uncomfortable about going out to places like a real couple, they also did not find their routines from their old lives particularly relishing. Watching silly but fun children's shows was apparently a comfortable middle ground, in their minds.

John was firmly on the side of Robin and the outlaws because of their noble objective to achieve justice, and Margaret was just as firmly sympathetic to the brooding baddie Sir Guy of Gisborne, mainly because of his tight leather outfit and general gorgeousness. John couldn't comprehend what she saw in Gisborne, but while Margaret would never admit as much out loud, Sir Guy actually reminded her a lot of a bad-boy version of John. He would be horrified if he knew – as soon as he'd found out that Sir Guy was Margaret's favourite character, he had become John's least favourite and to be in anyway compared to the leather-clad master-at-arms would in all probability be regarded as the worst of insults.

Margaret loved these lazy evenings with John, but she had been plagued, especially of late, about thoughts of the divorce. What did their changed situation mean with regards to that? John had not mentioned anything about it, and it had been some time since things had changed, but she was living on tenterhooks, and she needed to know what was going on. Had he quietly initiated the proceedings already? Would a day come when he would tell her that he wanted his house back to himself?

Taking her chance at a lull in the show as the outlaws planned to break into the castle for the billionth time, she turned to him. 'John, I wanted to talk to you; about the divorce –'

At her voice he had turned, and his initially curious expression flickered, and for a moment something like anguish passed across his features. However, it was gone so quickly that Margaret thought she must have imagined it, for the next moment his face was expressionless and his eyes unreadable. 'Of course,' he said impassively, turning back to the TV screen. 'I'll initiate the proceedings.'

Previously they had been sitting on the couch close enough for their shoulders to be touching, but now John had carefully shifted so that there was space between them. His attention was now wholly absorbed by Robin's audacious (and rather predictable) break-in to the castle dungeons.

Margaret could feel the sting of tears forming in her eyes. She had been about to put into words what had been her feeling for some time now – the feeling that this arrangement, their being together, was just so _right_. This would probably then have led to the conviction that she had now formed in her mind, that there had never been anything _more _right. That she did not want to leave.

Perhaps he had anticipated what she had been about to say, and that was why he had hurried to head her off. Of course – he must have divined the change in her wishes and had not mentioned anything to spare her feelings; or perhaps he even thought she was only trying to stay with him for his money. In any case it was obvious that he would be glad to be rid of her, and in the face of such rejection she was not brave enough to tell him how she felt.

Excusing herself from the living room, she made her way to her own room before the tears spilled over the brim of her eyelids and became noticeable. Once in her room she proceeded with the task she had set for herself, feverishly packing a suitcase with her belongings, stopping now and then to impatiently swipe away the tears that would keep on coming, despite all her resolutions not to cry. She was determined that if John did not want her around, then she would not stay any longer than necessary. She would not burden him with her presence, especially as she knew that staying for much longer without revealing her heartbreak and making him uncomfortable was manifestly impossible.

Once her belongings were packed, she sat down at the desk to write. If she could not get up the courage to tell John to his face, she was determined that he would know somehow. And so it was that with many false starts and crumpled missives rejected, she churned out a letter. In it she gave the explanation for her necessary departure and poured out her heart to him, telling him what she could not bring herself to tell in person.

Finally, three hours after she had begun, she was finished, and she sealed it in an envelope with his name on it. The next morning after John had left for work, she slipped the letter under the loose floorboard for him to find when he sent off the divorce papers. Then quietly she gathered up her suitcase, relinquished her door key and left with many a backward glance.

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	18. Void

**A/N: **Heh, good to see some yelling at screens happening with that last chapter (you don't know how happy this makes me – that people can get so into my story that they do this) – let me know if you feel that urge with this one.

Thanks as always to elwren75 for beta-reading!

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_Part Eighteen – Void_

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That evening when John returned home from work, he found the house dark and empty. For a moment, all kinds of horrible imaginings flashed through his mind, and he rushed upstairs to Margaret's room. There were several things missing from her room, mainly clothing and books. The circumstance of her bringing up the divorce and then retreating from the living room early sprung up unbidden in his mind, and finally comprehension dawned.

He looked about the house around places like the dining table or the fridge where she might have left a note, but found none. His shoulders slumped as he gave up the search for any communication from her. She was gone. There was no doubt as to what that meant. She did not want to be in his presence any longer than absolutely necessary. She had left, without so much as a goodbye, and probably couldn't wait for the divorce to be finalised.

Bitterness rippled through him as he sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. _Let her go_, he thought. _If that's what she wants, let her go. _He would have to get used to the idea of life without Margaret and he would have to conquer this strange, wild miserable feeling which burdened his heart.

But all the same and not for the first time he wished the divorce papers would somehow destroy themselves. He knew he should respect Margaret's wishes and send them off immediately so that she could be free, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. _Tomorrow_, he thought. He had this thought every day.

The next few months seemed the longest and loneliest of John's life. There was nobody to come home to, nobody to cook for, nobody to talk with while he washed the dishes, nobody to joke and laugh with, nobody to read Jane Austen with, nobody to laze around with, nobody to protest when he dissed Sir Guy of Gisborne, a pastime which had subsequently lost all its sweetness.

Of course he still had his friends, his mother, his colleagues. But _she_ was missing, and the void was impossible to fill.

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	19. The Truth Comes Out

**A/N:** Yes, I'm sorry, you did read it correctly – it _was _months. Although Margaret did 'look back', if that's any consolation.

Huge thank you as always to elwren75 for beta-reading and giving me confidence in my writing. Hope you all like this chapter – please tell me what you think!

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_Part Nineteen – The Truth Comes Out_

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Margaret knew better than to expect anything from John, but still every time the telephone rang or there was a knock at the door her heart would leap in spite of herself. Every time someone called out his name in a crowd, her head would snap around. Every time she glimpsed a tall, dark-haired man she would start forward, heart in her mouth. Every time she was disappointed, and every time afterwards she chided herself for being so silly. She couldn't help it.

It had been three long months since she had left, and she had not heard a word from John about her departure or even about the divorce papers which she dreaded having to sign. She would have to steel herself when the time came, and cause minimal fuss. She would have to be strong for his sake and also for the sake of her own dignity, and rein in her tears.

To her frustration the tears began to well up in her eyes even as she made her resolution, blurring in her vision the pages of the book she was attempting to read. She swiped roughly at her face as Edith entered the room.

'Margaret, I'm just gonna go meet Max – oh, Margaret, what's the matter?' She was instantly at Margaret's side, looking concerned.

At the sight of Edith's sympathetic face, the last vestiges of her self-control fled, and she broke into sobs. Edith's arms came around her, and she rubbed her back in soothing circles. 'I'm so sorry, Margaret – I'm so stupid! I forgot that today was the day.'

Even through her tears Margaret's confusion was evident. 'What day? What do you mean?'

Now it was Edith's turn to look confused. 'It's the first of October – you know, the day...' she trailed off delicately, but Margaret knew what she meant.

The day the baby would have been due. It was as if a cold hand had suddenly closed around her heart and begun to squeeze. _How could she have forgotten?_ What kind of horrible, heartless–

As she watched the sudden anguish that gripped Margaret's features, Edith suddenly understood. 'It wasn't that at all, was it?' she asked quietly. Margaret shook her head slowly. 'Tell me about it?'

Slowly, haltingly, with some laughter and some tears, Margaret related to her the true state of affairs between John and herself. 'And I haven't seen him or heard a word from him in over three months,' she finished finally, suddenly exhausted. 'He hasn't come back to me.' How she was able to produce more tears when she had already cried so many was a mystery to Margaret, but they were trailing down her face again. Accepting Edith's embrace, she leaned her head on her shoulder, her throat tightening. 'He hasn't come back to me,' she sobbed.

Edith's hands were gentle as they ran up and down Margaret's arm, trying to warm the icy flesh, but over Margaret's head her expression was set and determined. Very soon John Thornton was going to hear from one Edith Shaw. And if he had half an ounce of common sense he'd damn well come back to Margaret.

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	20. Sense and Utter Stupidity

**A/N:** Thank you all for reviewing so far, and to elwren75 for beta-reading.

Now I know this is getting old, but surely if I have to sit horrible exams I can exploit them for reviews? Tomorrow I have a Psychology exam – which won't be so bad, really, but it's still an exam. Would love to come back to find lots of reviews (hint, hint)!

To those who asked, I think English went alright – I feel I did my best, and I'm not kicking myself over any mistakes just yet, which is a good sign. Hopefully it will turn out well.

Anyway – longer chapter for you this time, so please tell me what you think!

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_Part Twenty – Sense and Utter Stupidity_

*

When Mrs. Thornton had first heard that John and Margaret had separated, she did not know whether to be glad or sorry on his behalf. She had not quite liked Margaret, but then perhaps she would never have thought anyone good enough for John. She had decided to base her reaction on John's, and to think accordingly. She could not deny that she was worried he had been hurt badly – for the past few monthly 'family dinners' they had had, Margaret had also been present, and Mrs. Thornton had witnessed for herself the camaraderie and affection between them.

However for his part, John seemed to be holding up quite well. He had not sounded surprised about it when he had informed her of the separation on the phone, and there wasn't any hint of emotion in his voice which might betray wounded feelings. He had stated 'irreconcilable differences' as the reason, and his tone had informed her that he did not wish to be questioned further on the subject.

She did not hear from him much these days and they had not had a monthly dinner since a few months ago, before John and Margaret had separated, but that was because of an increased demand on his time at work. At least that was the reason John had given; Mrs. Thornton was beginning to be inclined not to believe him unless her worries were allayed by confirming it with her own eyes. Therefore she had called John and had invited him to their monthly dinner for October; he had not protested, and that was why they were both sitting at her dining table, eating in silence. Well, Mrs. Thornton was eating – John seemed to be rearranging the food on his plate.

Mrs. Thornton had been studying him carefully for the past half hour, and she was becoming convinced that she saw before her not a man who was resigned that a divorce was for the best, but rather a man who was desperately unhappy. She put down her knife and fork purposefully, and decided to cut straight to the chase. 'John, what has really happened between you and Margaret?'

His head snapped up at hearing her name, but then he looked away. 'Mum, I told you; the differences between us are–'

Mrs. Thornton interjected. 'Irreconcilable, you told me.' Then she sighed and laid a hand over his. 'But won't you tell me what they are? Perhaps we'll find that they aren't so irreconcilable after all.'

'It's a long story.'

She glanced at the clock. 'We have the rest of the evening to while away.'

He sighed. 'Very well,' he said, and then he began to tell her. To her credit, Mrs. Thornton listened to the whole story without interrupting once, her eyes darkening in sympathy when he reached the miscarriage. When he had finally finished, he looked at her expectantly.

As he had been speaking, the vague unnamed suspicions which had been forming in her mind over the past several months had been justified. She looked thoughtfully at him for a moment, but all she said was, 'Well, that explains a lot.'

He looked at her in amazement. 'You mean... you're not mad?' She shook her head, and he gave an incredulous laugh running a hand through his hair. 'I thought you'd kill me – that's why I married her in the first place.'

She looked at him sternly. 'John, I want the best for you. I have always tried to raise you to act responsibly. Perhaps I would have been angry – in fact, I probably would have been. But I would have gotten over it, and maybe I could have helped. You didn't have to lie just to keep me happy.' Her voice softened. 'Never think you can't tell me things, John.'

He opened his mouth, probably to stammer an apology, but she waved a hand dismissively, returning to her usual business-like demeanor. 'Anyway, none of that matters now – what matters is what you're going to do about it.'

He sighed. 'What _can_ I do?' he said despairingly. 'She's made it clear enough that she wants nothing to do with me.'

Mrs. Thornton looked thoughtful. 'Has she actually said anything to you?'

'Well, no,' he admitted, and the first faint glimmers of hope could be seen in his eyes. Then he shook his head suddenly. 'If she cared about me at all, she would have contacted me.'

Mrs. Thornton raised an eyebrow. 'But have you contacted her?'

_Touch__é__. _John ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Trust his mother to pick up on that. 'But I'm not the one who packed up and left without a word!' he said heatedly.

Mrs. Thornton laid a calming hand on his arm. 'Alright,' she said. 'I admit I don't understand the exact circumstances, and I obviously don't know Margaret as well as you do. But what I do know is that the couple I saw at my dinner table every month were happy together.'

'That was just an act, Mum. She was only pretending.'

Mrs. Thornton shook her head. 'John, there are some things one cannot pretend. And if the expression I saw in that girl's eyes whenever she looked at you was manufactured, then she's clearly wasting her talents running a bookstore.'

He was listening to her now, and oh, how _much _he wanted to believe her. _But... _'Then why did she leave?' he asked softly.

Mrs. Thornton shrugged. 'That's a question only Margaret can answer. John, you don't have to take my advice, but I think you should meet up with her once more. Talk to her, tell her how you feel and find out why she left. If it turns out that she truly doesn't love you, then you can initiate the divorce proceedings and try to move on with your life. At best, you'll have her in your life again; at worst, you'll finally get some closure.' She smiled wryly. 'From what I see, you don't have a whole lot to lose.'

John mulled it over for a while. Then he nodded slowly. 'I think I will.' He rose then, and kissed her on the cheek. 'Thanks for the advice, Mum,' he said, and then started to make his way to the door.

She called out after he had rounded the corner into the hallway. 'Oh, and John?'

He stuck his head back into the dining room. 'Hmm?'

'Let me know how it goes. After all, I'll need to know if I'm to set an extra place for our dinner next month.'

The first genuine smile she had seen on his face in months spread over it. 'I will, Mum,' he said. And then he was gone.

*


	21. A Blade Among Rose Leaves

**A/N: **Thank you to elwren75 for beta-reading, and thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you seem to like my blatant and shameless Austen-referencing, because there's more to come.

We are nearing the end of this story now – after this one there are only two chapters to go. I really hope it will live up to your expectations.

Anyway – please tell me what you think of this chapter!

*

_Part Twenty-One_ – _A Blade Among Rose Leaves_

*

The next day at work John's mind was buzzing with the conversation he had had with his mother the previous night. He had determined that he would go to see Margaret today, after work. He would stop by at home and collect the divorce papers, in case that was what she wanted. This way he could get all the paperwork out of the way then and there, and would not have to meet up again for that purpose. He didn't think he would be able to bear it if that happened though – even at the possibility the whole of his life seemed to stretch out before him, lonely and withered up.

His rather depressing turn of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing, and for that he was grateful. He picked it up. 'Hello?'

'Hi, is this John Thornton?' The female voice on the other end was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

He frowned slightly. 'Speaking. Who is this?'

'It's Edith – I called to let you know–'

His blood turned to ice. 'What is it? Has something happened? Is Margaret alright?'

She laughed incredulously. 'Oh, so now you care? For your information, she's not _alright. _She hasn't been _alright _for the past three months. Don't ask me why, but for some reason you seem to be necessary for her happiness.'

His heart began to race. 'She's unhappy... because of me? Did she tell you that?'

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and he could sense her hesitation as she debated with herself over how much she could reveal. Finally she began to speak again. 'Look,' she said somewhat brusquely, 'that's not my business. And I know it's not my business to be telling you what to do either, but frankly, I don't care. I care about Margaret, and I think she cares about you. So if you care for her even a little bit, you should meet up with her, talk to her – at least let her know what the story is between the two of you.'

All of this was spoken vehemently and at top-speed, and it took John a moment to process it. 'I will talk to her, Edith,' he said quietly. 'Thank you for letting me know.'

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and when Edith spoke, her voice was softer. 'I hope you guys can work things out,' she said, and then she hung up.

_So do I, Edith, _he thought. _So do I._

*


	22. No Longer In Silence

**A/N:** Thank you to elwren75 for beta-reading, and thank you to everyone for reviewing as always!

Now, you guys know the drill. Chemistry exam tomorrow, and since I've been updating instead of studying, I feel I deserve reviews. Otherwise I miss out on grades AND reviews, and that would just be too cruel – so please review and give me something to look forward to!

Only one chapter to go after this one!

*

_Part Twenty-Two – No Longer In Silence_

*

John left work early that day, the words of his mother and Edith reverberating in his mind. He would go home for the divorce papers, and then no more procrastinating – straight to Margaret's apartment. He nodded twice to strengthen these resolutions in his own mind.

Once home, he directed his trudging steps to the hated loose floorboard in his bedroom. For the past three months he had even been sleeping in the guest bedroom in order to avoid it. However today that would not be the case – today he must face it. With a sigh he prised up the floorboard, but to his astonishment, it was not only the divorce papers contained within.

On top of them was a letter, addressed to him. A letter in Margaret's handwriting. A letter dated from three months ago.

He groaned aloud in frustration, at himself for not finding it earlier and also at her for unwittingly choosing the one location where he was sure _not_ to find it. Then without any further ado, he tore open the envelope and his eyes devoured the following words:

_Dear John,_

_I know that the first time we met – sober, that is – I didn't like you at all. In fact, I kind of hated you. And if that seems an unconventional way to start a love letter, then please bear with me, because there is a purpose to all this._

_When you came to find me afterwards, I was forced to revise my opinion of you. My mum had always told me that if I wanted to know what a man was really like, I should see how he treated his mother. Your offer to me that day showed me that you respected your mother highly and cared about her opinion very much – and even if I didn't think about it in so many words then, I think this was what actually compelled me to take that leap of faith with you, even though I hardly knew you._

_On the morning of our wedding day, I was convinced that I had made a mistake in taking the matter so far, and I told you as much. You then confirmed my first impression that you were an insufferable jerk. And right now I can almost see you laughing and trying to frown as you ask with feigned indignation exactly what kind of love letter this is when all I'm doing is insulting you. Again, bear with me. I want to be completely honest with you, and that necessarily entails some things that are less than pleasant. And anyway, I'm sure that for a while at least, you thought me obstinate and unreasonable, so we're really quite even in that regard._

_After we married, I actually started to like you, contrary to all my expectations. I found that spending time with you actually wasn't so bad, and I began to encourage myself to like you. After all, if I could stand your presence, it would make the next two years considerably more bearable. And so that was what I did. But this plan soon started to backfire, because I began to like you too much. I began to notice little things like how your eyes would light up when you smiled, how you'd run a hand through your hair when you were nervous, how you'd throw back your head when you'd laugh. I learned that you could be tactful and insensitive, perceptive and oblivious, serious and just plain silly. I saw you in all moods and attitudes and couldn't decide which one I liked best. I wanted to stick around and spend years researching them all._

_For a while I was focused on myself and you, and my own feelings, but soon I began to think from a different perspective. I began to think of the life growing inside of me, and I began to look to the future in terms other than those of finances and practicality. I began to wonder how you'd be as a father, and in my mind I began to imagine what life would be like for the three of us. I could see you waking up in the middle of the night at our baby's cries and helping me tend to it without complaint. I could see you not minding when it puked all over you. I could see you letting it pull your hair. I could see you making funny faces for its amusement. And I could see myself watching it all, my heart bursting with love for the both of you._

_I loved our baby even at that stage, long before it was born, and when I lost it, I felt as if – as if the future I had been dreaming of for it, for us – had been stolen away from me. I felt as if the gurgling infant of my dream had been born and had died, and that a part of me had died with it. I had been rudely awoken, and I felt that my only recourse was to return to a slumber, but this time one that was dark and dreamless. I know that at this time I worried you, and I am sorry for that. But I was still grieving for the little son or daughter I had lost, and it took some time, some introspection and all of your support before I could be at peace with myself about it. I know I haven't expressed it to you in as many words, but I am so grateful for all that you've done for me, for standing by me and always being there during that time; and you may shake your head and deny it, but I don't think I could have pulled through it without your help._

_Over the six months we have spent together, my feelings toward you have undergone such a radical change. First, you were the insufferable jerk I had slept with in a night of temporary insanity; then you were my insufferable fiancé, then my insufferable husband. Slowly you became my strangely attractive husband, then my rather endearing husband, then my best friend who was all of those things and more._

_Perhaps at this stage you're wondering why I've come over all Jane Austen and have written this to you instead of telling you to your face. The answer is that I know from what you said today when I brought up the divorce that you don't feel the same way. And knowing that, I just couldn't bear the thought of telling you how I truly felt. But here, with black ink and white paper and the wrenching yet comforting prospect that I won't be present to see your reaction, I feel strangely brave; brave enough to tell you what I suspect at this point you will have deduced for yourself. I love you, John Thornton, and despite the cynical world we live in, and in which I have grown up, I refuse to believe that my feelings are ephemeral. I've never felt this way about anyone before; my life has been too busy, my thoughts always turned to other things. But now I love, and will love._

_I must stress now, that this puts you under no obligation to do anything, and I ask you for God's sake not to mistake feelings of friendship or pity for something more. You do not have to pretend anything to spare my feelings. I'll leave you now, because I don't want to take up any more of your time. I know you're too polite to tell me to leave before the divorce is finalised, but I don't want to impose any longer than is necessary. Perhaps I was stupid to enter into marriage with you without anticipating that this would happen; perhaps I was naïve to think it would remain – for me, at least – the business transaction we'd agreed it was. I'm sorry this has gotten so blotchy – I honestly don't know what's wrong with me._

_There – I've taken some time to compose myself, and I think I can finish this off calmly and sensibly now. I guess just now I was crying at the thought of having to leave, having to leave my home, having to leave my life of the last six months, but above all, having to leave you. And no, before you ask, I did not steal that line from one of those Barbara Cartland novels you bought from the $5 bin along with the Dan Brown ones. And now I'm crying again, but I'm also laughing through my tears at the thought of what a sap I've become. And perhaps it would be best to end here, while I can still see some humour in the situation._

_Yours,_

_Margaret_

For a moment he clutched the letter in his hands, and closed his eyes. To think, he could have found this months ago – could have saved them both the heartache...

And then he was up, letter still clutched in one hand, swiping the car keys off the kitchen table with the other, racing to the car, divorce papers lying forgotten on the floor.

*


	23. Half Agony, Half Hope

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everyone for hanging around for this story, and for the tremendous response to it! I can't believe it's over, and the thought makes me feel happy and sad at the same time, but I do hope I've finished it off to your satisfaction.

And of course thanks must be given to elwren75 not only for beta-reading, but also for your encouraging words when I'm feeling a little unsure of myself, and for your honest concrit when it's needed. I've learnt a lot from it, and I really think this story is a better finished product due to your help, so thank you!!

Now onto the last chapter – if you've been reading but holding out on reviewing thus far, no better time than the present to tell me your thoughts!

*

_Part Twenty-Three – Half Agony, Half Hope_

*

Margaret had returned from a day's work at the bookstore to an empty apartment with a note from Edith that she was out with Max and would not be home until late. If there was one good thing about confessing the whole sad truth to Edith, it was that she no longer attempted to persuade Margaret to come out of a Friday night to hit the town and 'cheer up'.

It seemed like the ideal night to curl up in her favourite pair of track pants (the ones which were at least two sizes too large) with her tattered, well-loved copy of Jane Austen's _Persuasion. _She thumbed through it, rereading her favourite scenes and lost herself in the story of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth. Finally she reached her favourite part, the letter. Only in books, she thought sadly, did the letter seem to work – she knew that through bitter experience. Then she shook her head, resolutely trying to push all such thoughts out of her head, trying to concentrate solely on Captain Wentworth's beautiful, heartfelt words:

_'I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it–'_

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Margaret in her reread. She sighed, somewhat irritated at the timing. There was a second knocking, sounding more frantic this time. Margaret rolled her eyes – why Edith was back again so early she didn't know, but it seemed she had forgotten her key _again_. Taking her time, Margaret reluctantly got up from the couch, copy of _Persuasion _still in hand. Grumbling under her breath, she opened the door.

John Thornton was there. Her brain froze.

The man she'd been longing for a word from or glimpse of for months, the man who invaded her thoughts far too often. He was here, and he was standing on her doorstep in his office clothes, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

For maybe as long as a minute, they both simply stood staring at each other, but then John's eyes dropped to her chest. Margaret flushed with embarrassment as she realised she was wearing the T-shirt Edith had once given her as a joke, the one with the words 'STOP STARING AND TOUCH THEM ALREADY' emblazoned in bold letters right across the front. Clearing her throat, she hastily crossed her arms across her chest and somehow managed to open the door wider at the same time to admit him.

Red-faced, he complied, following her into the same room where he had proposed so many months ago. Margaret was somewhat relieved that he seemed to feel as discomfited as she did, but he still had the advantage over her in knowing what he had come for. For the first time in months a shoot of hope sprung up in her heart, but she quashed it fiercely. She had heard for herself John's cold voice as he had said that he would initiate the divorce proceedings. Nobody who had heard him could have imagined that he could possibly care for her, even a little.

She darted a glance at John, who was twisting his hands about in his lap and who seemed to be working up the nerve to say something. Comprehension dawned. 'You want me to sign them, don't you?' she said flatly, and he looked up at her suddenly, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.

Margaret sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. The fact that he seemed so concerned about hurting her feelings even now was painful, causing her heart to beat thick with longing, making her only love him the more for it. 'You needn't look so worried,' she said tiredly, trying to smile, but not quite succeeding. 'I won't cause a fuss – I'll just sign everything so that we can get this over with.' She looked around curiously for a briefcase or something which he might have the divorce papers in, but he appeared to have come empty-handed. 'Do you have the papers with you?'

He had been watching her with wide eyes the whole time she had been speaking, and with every word his face had grown paler. Finally he spoke, his voice sounding utterly despondent. 'You've... you've changed your mind?' For a second he dropped his forehead to his hand, but then taking a deep breath he stood. 'Fine,' he said in a hollow voice, 'if that's what you want, we'll do it.'

He turned as if to leave, but Margaret stopped him with a forceful hand on his arm. '_What_ are you talking about, John?' She was tired, she was confused, she was angry and she was sick to death of being thrown into emotional turmoil by him. 'When have I changed my mind? And when have you _ever_ asked me if this is what I want?'

For a moment he looked taken aback, but then he shook his head. 'What else am I supposed to think?' he muttered dejectedly, determinedly not looking at her. 'When I found your letter, I –'

'Obviously didn't care much, since you never answered or spoke a single word to me until now,' Margaret interjected heatedly, glaring daggers at him because it was the only way she could prevent herself from doing what she really wanted, which was to break down and cry her eyes out.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. 'I only found it an hour ago,' he said softly.

Suddenly the room seemed deafeningly quiet, and Margaret's hands began to tremble. When he next spoke she hung onto his every word, heart in her mouth. 'I finally decided that I had to do what was right by you and give you the divorce you had seemed to want. I'd been avoiding sending off the divorce papers for the past three months–'

Margaret's eyes widened. 'I thought you'd find it the next day,' she defended weakly.

John ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky laugh. 'In that case, you chose the worst possible place to leave it.' He stepped closer, a tentative smile emerging on his face. 'You're talking to the man who was so desperate to avoid those papers that he slept in the guest bedroom in his own house.'

'That day when I brought up the divorce,' Margaret said softly, the tears she had been fighting ever since she had seen him on her doorstep now welling up into her eyes, 'it was to confess that I didn't want one.'

John swore softly under his breath. He stepped closer still until she could feel the heat radiating from him and was able to clearly see her own reflection in his pupils. 'I think we're going to have to make a list,' he said quietly, 'of ten reasons why I deserve a huge kick in the bum.' He slowly, hesitantly brought a hand up to her face, caressing her temple with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch, a single tear slipping down her face as she closed her eyes. 'That is possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,' she smiled.

When she opened her eyes, he was close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her lips. His eyes were dark with longing and his voice when it came was rather unsteady. 'Margaret,' he whispered hoarsely, '_please_ come home with me.'

In reply she simply closed the distance between them to bring her lips to his.

*

**THE END**

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